Saturday, June 23, 2012

White light enveloped the centre of the platform. The Hands
of Almalexia standing around it suddenly straightened, lowered their eyes in
the position of attention and respect. When the light cleared, none of them
looked up to see that it was not their goddess that had returned, but rather a
young woman, standing silently in the middle of Almalexia’s platform, her robe
charred and torn and covered in muck and blood. Her skin was scratched and
bleeding, her hair tangled and matted with sweat, every inch of her body
aching. Upon her belt hung Trueflame and Hopesfire, the twin blades. The Mazed
Band rested on her finger beside Moon-and-Star. And in her arms she carried a
clay jar, sealed at the top. Silently, Fen passed the silent Hands and walked
through the reception chamber, ignoring the stares of the priests and
Ordinators there.

She pushed through the door and out into the city,
expecting to be caught in the thick of the ashstorm – but rather, she tasted
the familiar, clean, sweet air of Mournhold. Fen paused on the broad terrace,
staring around. The ashstorm was gone, but it had not gone without leaving its
mark. Everything was still coated in a thick layer of ash. The trees were still
withered and shrunken and the gardens around the Temple lay still and dead. But there were
people in the streets now, staring up at the clear, dusky sky in surprise and
relief, slowly venturing back out of their refuges into the city once more.

Before Fen could start down the stairs, a slender figure began
to materialize before her, like a person walking out of the fog. Fen saw
swirling blue silk, thick, dark hair, wide, outstretched arms. She had seen
this figure before.

“Azura,” Fen said, and her voice was hoarse.

“You have done well,
mortal. The death of Almalexia is a boon for all of Morrowind, though it may
take time for this to be understood. She would have betrayed the Dunmer as
surely as she betrayed all those she loved. This was her curse, and this was
her undoing.” Fen lowered her eyes
– she understood. The loss of the Heart of Lorkhan had been too much for
Almalexia to bear. That was what had driven her to madness. “Weep not for
Sotha Sil,” Azura continued,“for he shed his mortality long ago,
and I am certain his death was no small relief to him. These gods lived with
the burden of a power no mortal was meant to possess.

“Your
work in Morrowind is not finished, Nerevarine,” Azura went on, a slow smile
forming on her unmoving lips.“Vivec still lives, but I believe his
time grows short. Protect my people. Defend these lands. The skies of Mournhold
are clear once again. Let these people suffer no longer. Now go, mortal. Embrace
your destiny, and go with my blessing.” With this pronouncement, Azura
vanished once more, leaving nothing but the sounds of the city in the evening
in her wake.

For
a while, Fen stood silently on the terrace, watching the sky turn into night.
Then, making a decision, she pulled out Gildan’s headscarf and made her way
toward the Palace.

No
one deterred her as she walked up through the reception chamber and into the
Throne room, the scarf carefully covering her face. Her father and her
grandmother were both there, sitting upon their thrones, looking, curiously, as
if they had been waiting for her.

“Ihave been hearing many stories
about you, Fedura,” he said, and for a moment Fen was confused before she
remembered the fake name she had given Helseth. “And about the goddess. In
fact, I’ve been hearing stories about a great deal of strange happenings in my
city. I sent you to learn more about the attacks. I will assume that the rumors
I have heard relate to that.”

And so, still clutching the
ceramic jar in her arms, Fen relayed the entire story to the king, her journey
through the ClockworkCity, her discovery of
Sotha Sil’s body, Almalexia’s madness and death. Barenziah watched Fen with her
penetrating eyes, taking in every word, her face impassive, while Helseth
looked more and more incredulous. Around the room, the guards and courtiers
whispered among themselves, their eyes wide. When she had finished, a silence
settled upon the room for some time. Then, at last, Helseth broke it.

“The attacks were Almalexia’s
doing?” he said, and his voice was hoarse. “And now you say that both she and
Sotha Sil lie dead in the ClockworkCity? She murders Sotha
Sil, and then tries to kill you as well. Astounding!” Helseth shook his head. “I
believe your tale, Fedura, but do not expect my people to be so accepting of
it. You will find it is not so easy to kill these gods in the hearts and minds
of their followers. It will take time, but this will be a new era for
Morrowind, and I will lead them into it. You have done well, my friend. You
have my gratitude.” With that, he gave a small wave of dismissal. Fen turned to
leave, her heart sinking. She knew it wouldn’t happen. She knew none of it
would ever happen. Not now.

She was almost to the door
when she felt someone grab hold of the scarf around her head and pull it
suddenly. There was a whisper of fabric and then it was gone, in the hands of a
guard that stepped back. Fen froze, feeling the cool air on her hot face.

“Turn around,” Helseth said,
and his voice was dripping with malice. Fen hesitated. “Turn around!” Helseth shouted, and Fen did so, slowly, finally
revealing her bruised and battered face to her father. Barenziah was staring
sidelong at her son, her eyes cold. “So,” Helseth said, his eyes narrowing. “I
banish you from my city for treason on pain of death, forbid you from ever
coming near us again. And here you are.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of
his throne. “I, King Hlaalu Helseth of the Royal Family of Mournhold, sentence
you –”

“What is wrong with you?” Fen
said savagely, surprising herself. The courtiers around the room gasped and
Helseth froze mid-sentence. “That you would banish your own daughter from your
city?” An even larger gasp went up. There were whisperings from the sides of
the room, alarmed looks. Helseth looked aghast.

“I – I don’t know –”

“You still haven’t told them?”
Fen asked sharply. “That you have a daughter? That I’ve been living in this
palace for nineteen years? That you’ve done your utmost best to have me killed
since I first came here?” There was utter silence. Everyone stared from the
king, to Fen, then back again. “I don’t care anymore,” Fen snapped suddenly. “I
don’t care. Kill me. See if it makes you feel better. See if it makes the
people in this city like you more. See if it gives you more power to murder the
only child you’ll ever have.” Silence fell, and Fen stared fiercely at her
father, who looked completely at a loss.

“How long have you known,
Hlaalu?” Barenziah had spoken, her firm, powerful voice dominating the room.
She did not look at her son, nor at her granddaughter, but leaned back in her
throne, staring out one of the high windows. “How long have you known she was
here?” Fen could see that Helseth wanted to disregard the question, but
Barenziah’s commanding nature made it impossible. He stared at the floor.

“I realized it after the
duel,” he said quietly. Barenziah did not look at him.

“Your daughter has been in
this city for months, and you didn’t know?” she asked. “Did you not feel it the
moment she came here?” Barenziah finally turned, staring at her son
straight-on. “I felt it,” she said, lowering her voice slightly. “I felt a
ripple in my heart, telling me that she had returned. You are her father. You
should be ashamed that you did not.” Helseth said nothing. For a long while,
there was silence. Then the king stood, slowly, and crossed the wide throne
room floor to stand in front of Fen. It was the first time in years he had ever
been so close – Fen saw now the lines on his face, the shadows beneath his
eyes, the grey in his dark hair.

“I…do not expect you to
forgive me,” he said softly, so the courtiers could not hear. “What I have done
to you deserves no forgiveness. But I believe that there are turbulent times
ahead of us. I have been foolish in my leadership of this land, and lost the
trust of my people. They look now to you for protection. You will be needed.”
He reached out, almost hesitantly, and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I would
ask that you take your rightful place in the Royal Court and serve as the princess of
this realm.”

For some time all Fen could do
was stare. Slowly, she lowered the ceramic jar to the finely tiled floor and
stared into her father’s eyes. She could see regret there, a tired lifetime of
regret.

“Welcome home, Princess
Fenara.”

Wordlessly, Fen fell into her
father’s arms, something she had not done her entire life. She breathed in his
smell, his fatherly, paternal smell, and wanted to cry with relief. Everything
was backward, everything strange. Julan was gone and she was a princess again.
Nothing made sense.

The rest of the day passed in
a blur. Fen vaguely remembered being escorted back into the upper halls of the
Palace, down a corridor lit with blue candles and into her chambers. Had the
situation been any different, Fen would have collapsed with joy at being in her
old apartments again – but she was too exhausted and riddled with grief to see
clearly and barely took it in.

Someone ran a bath for her and
helped her out of her ruined robe, giving her nightclothes and brushing out her
hair. And then, somehow, she was in her bed, curled up beneath the thick
crimson duvet, her view of the room hidden by heavy curtains that had been
drawn around the bed, throwing her into darkness and causing her to plummet
into sleep.

* * *

For some time, Fen lay still
in her bed, staring up at the dark ceiling of the canopy. Then she sat up,
slowly, feeling painfully different. She looked down at her hands. They were
still crisscrossed with scars and rough after a year on Vvardenfell, but they
were no longer covered in blood as they had been last night. She touched her
hair – it was clean and smooth, smelling of rosemary. She pulled back the duvet
and saw that she wore a satin nightdress that was cool against her skin.

Fen pushed the curtain
surrounding her bed back and sunlight filtered in, startling her. It had to be
late morning. She slid her feet into a pair of slippers that sat waiting for
her and stood up, taking a dressing gown from a hook on the wall and sliding it
over her shoulders. Her bedchamber was exactly as she had left it all those
months ago – the round embroidered cushions stacked haphazardly in a corner,
the surface of the vanity laden with jewelry and bottles of scented oils, the
sturdy wardrobe door ajar, revealing a row of intricately sewn gowns. Someone
had thrown back the ivory lace curtain over the window, giving Fen a view of
the Royal Palace Courtyard, where courtiers and pages were going about their
business as normal.

Fen dressed herself quickly,
shouldered her bag, which had been left on a low table in her room, and exited
into the reception chamber. Her chambermaid, an Argonian woman called Noh-Wei, was
there, starting across the room with a bed table that was laden with breakfast
foods.

“I apologize, Your Highness,”
she said quickly, dropping her head in a bow. “I did not realize you were
awake.”

“Noh-Wei,” she said. “Would
you please go to my father and grandmother and tell them that I have business
to attend to and will return soon?” The Argonian nodded and bowed out of the
room, taking the bed table with her.

Fen hefted the bag onto her
shoulder and drew out the Mazed Band from within her bag. She remembered what
Gavas Drin had said about it, and she activated it once more to find herself
standing on the rainy Palace canton of Vivec, directly in front of the great
flight of stairs leading up to his citadel.

“Welcome, Nerevarine,” Vivec
said as Fen entered. “It has been long since we last spoke.” His eyes narrowed
with distaste. “Too long, perhaps.”

“And how long has it been
since you have spoken with Almalexia?” Vivec looked surprised at the question.

“We don’t communicate,” he
told her. “Without the Heart, our divine powers must diminish. She takes her
divinity very seriously, and the loss weighs heavily on her. She tends to
brood, and I fear she will do herself and others harm.”

“She has,” Fen told him, and
she explained the attacks on Mournhold and Almalexia’s murder of Sotha Sil.

“That is very sad,” he said,
when she had finished. “I thought she might harm me. And I presume she tried to
kill you, Nerevarine. It is all very sad. But death comes to all mortals – and
we are all mortal now. In time, death will come to me, Nerevarine – perhaps
even at your hands. It is futile to deny one’s fate.”

“The boy that travels with
you?” Vivec asked, and Fen nodded. “I am sorry, then. But there was nothing I
could have done.”

“You don’t seem to get it, do
you?” Fen asked him sharply. “This has all
happened because the Tribunal killed Nerevar. All of it. Dagoth Ur, the
Blight, Almalexia’s madness – everything.”

“And I am sorry for it,” Vivec
said again. “But, nonetheless, I’m afraid I find it all very, very sad that it
should end this way, something that began in such glory and noble promise.” Fen
crossed her arms.

“What, exactly, was glorious
and noble about murdering Nerevar?”

“We gave ourselves divinity
with good in mind,” Vivec said serenely, and Fen glared at him.

“If you think I believe that,
Vivec, then you’ve mistaken me for a fool.” And with that, Fen left the way she
had come.